


The Miles Under Our Feet

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had spent the first several days of their trip furious, refusing to leave their motel room in the backwoods of Maine while Will spent his days in the lobby, reading, staring longingly out at the murky sky, unwilling to stray too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maine

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to my fic [Snippets From Life with a Traveling Circus (Three Lies and a Truth)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/476215).
> 
> For Phyllis and Sam, without them I would never finish half my fics.

He's lost track of how long it's been since the night he had promised never to let anything happen to her. The circus, the last year and a half, is so far from his mind now, but that promise is still there, real, and now more tangible than ever. 

In the beginning he had worried. Trying not to hover had become as second nature to him as breathing in those first few weeks as they had made their way down the coast. They would stay a day, a week, and then buy bus tickets or hop a train and make their way to their next stop, a treasure map of memories for them both. That had been Watson's doing, digging up the list of stops for their "adventure": the campground Will had visited with his parents, the lighthouse where Helen first remembers feeling the wind in her hair. 

Helen had thrown a fit when Watson had presented it to her, a neat handwritten list and an envelope of discretionary cash. She had spent the first several days of their trip furious, refusing to leave their motel room in the backwoods of Maine while Will spent his days in the lobby, reading, staring longingly out at the murky sky, unwilling to stray too far. 

It hadn't been until she had seen him tuck his hiking boots back into his suitcase that her mood had shifted.

"Do you want to go out?" She sounds sad, like she's finally figured out that they had both spent day after day moping.

"What do you feel up to?" He asks cautious but optimistic, disappointment sinking deep with her reply.

"Is there a studio around here?"

There was. He had asked the kid at the front desk the morning after they had checked in, and while he hadn't known he had found out. There was a studio outside of Portland. Going back to circus life, even in this small way isn't something Will wants to do, but he does miss it and he knows they're both feeling a bit lost without it. If this is what she wants, he's not going to deny her. The three hour round trip drive would take a good chunk of time out of their day. He wasn't ready to leave the woods behind yet, but it wouldn't make sense for them to stay if this was something she wanted to make a regular occurrence.

"It's a drive."

She considers his reaction, the quiet lack of enthusiasm, and bites her bottom lip. "Just for today."

It's not a promise but a question, but he nods anyway and tugs a pair of shorts free from the rest of his clothes.

 

He spends most of the afternoon sprawled across the floor underneath where she hangs suspended. If someone happened to wander buy he would get an earful. It's not the smartest place to lie. Helen as much as anyone knows exactly what she's doing, but there's always a chance. He's not worried though, not when it's currently the best angle, second only to climbing up beside her, to watch her. He's feeling too lazy for any sort of workout, and the mat he's dragged over is comfortable enough so he stays put, watching.

Above him, she's suspended close to the ceiling, close enough that reaching up, her fingers could graze the white paint. She hasn't moved much since she had climbed up there, although she no longer hangs upside down with an impish grin on her face, instead she's laid out facing him, held tight by the fabric knotted around her waist.

He waves at her and she smiles. She curls up and shifts, spinning once to drop into a seated position. He's always marveled at how effortless it seemed for her. The positions and the drops that left his body straining, looked fluid and seamless when completed by her as if it were the ribbons and not Helen that shifted and worked itself around her form.

"Why Maine?" She asks suddenly.

"Why not?" He laughs and then amends more seriously. "I went camping a couple of times up here with my parents when I was young. It's the only time I ever remember my dad really being around before-"

He trails off and she picks up, "where to next?"

"Your turn I think, so Boston, or maybe we're reliving circus camp."

Helen makes a noise that sounds quite a lot like a disgruntled snort and slips farther down her pair of ribbons, hovering closer to him but still out of reach. "I can't imagine James sending us back to the circus after he worked so hard to get us on this trip."

"You, get you on this trip." Will teases.

"It's been quite some time since I've been to Boston. It's a lovely city." Helen continues ignoring him. "It's a shame the ferry doesn't run to the Cape this time of year."

"It snows this time of year." Will reminds her but she seems oblivious to the changeable nature of the weather. "If we're lucky we might get enough snow this week to build a snowman."

"A snowman?" Helen sounds intrigued despite her teasing laughter. "You can't expect me-"

"Don't tell me they don't build snowmen in London."

"I-" She frowns at him. "I certainly never did anything so frivolous."

Will rolls his eyes. "Just like you never skipped through the streets or begged for a lolly outside the sweet shop."

"Not once." She says definitively as she slides down the rest of ribbon and lands with a hushed plop on the mat beside him. "At least not that I remember."

"We'll have to remedy that."

"If you insist."

He does insist, although he's not about to tell her that. His early childhood is filled with tales of wondrously marvelous things- snowmen, gingerbread houses, lemonade on the lake. Helen's tales of her childhood are more subdued but filled with a contentment and happiness that he envies. His memories are tinted with the bitter aftermath of his mother's death in a way that Helen's aren't. She may have relocated with her father to the States, suffered that great upheaval along with the loss of her mother, but she even those memories she recalls with great fondness. He wants to give her this, these small things with the hope that in some way he'll find the same peace that she has.


	2. Florida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She twists the string tied around her finger, thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> includes light bondage, backhand springs, and cheeky Will.

Sand tickles, itching vaguely between his toes and wears at calluses on his heels as he side steps a patch of rugged looking shells just above the high water line. In front of him, just out of his reach, Helen walks, steps bouncing as she plays chicken with the surf in the damp sand. She shrieks as the water laps at her ankles and he laughs loud enough for her to turn around and scowl at him. She looks serious, but her eyes dance with a mischief he knows they hasn't had in years.

"I'm all wet." She pouts as he draws closer and he has to fight the urge to rush forward and topple them both into the ocean. It's late winter now and the water's cold enough that they would have to turn around and head back to their room, something he's not willing to do this early in the evening. He knows that soon they’ll have to start practicing, they'll have to go back to their lives, but for now he wants to relish every second he has with her out here where she can't keep the smile from her face for too long.

He watches the way her stance shifts and he stops his slow forward movement to raise an eyebrow. She grins, shakes her head and executes first one and then another back handspring. Her form is perfect. It's not something Will would have been able to recognize before, but he's been watching her for almost a week now and her movements never falter.

"I was too good for cheerleading." She had giggled into his neck the night before, self-conscious in her admission.

He can see that now, the long lines of her body bent effortlessly, bare legs gliding through the air to press into the sand. He steps around the indentations she has left, deep in the toe and the heel, the press of her palms, as they move down the beach. She moves toward him once, one leg arched forward, toes grazing the sand before she sprang away again. The motions blur together until he's surprised to find she has stopped, one hand on her hip, looking flushed. 

"I'm out of practice." She breathes out, not as an excuse but as more of a lament and he fights away the pang in his chest. They haven't talked much about what they want to do when they go back to the circus- this is time for her, for them- but she has said she wanted to experiment. She had pressed forward too quickly from tumbling, to aerial hoops, to silk, and while the trapeze is still something new, he knows it's not enough. She's too curious, too willing to push herself, to be grounded in any one thing for too long. He only hopes she doesn't leave him behind completely.

"That was beautiful." He tells her honestly and she wrinkles her nose shaking her head at how earnest he sounds. His complements are honest, she knows that, but the frequency with which he doles them out make her uncomfortable. She was beautiful; he needed her to know that, but she still heard the echoes of Druitt's curse, his blind obsessive love of her.

"Don't shake your head at me." He says with an over exaggerated frown, pressing into the space between them to wrap his arms around her waist. "It's not becoming of a lady of your status."

She swats at him, laughing and he dances away. She chases him- half hearted, both of them laughing too hard to move very fast- until they're almost out of beach. She collapses first, a comical splaying of limbs and he backtracks to fall beside her, laughter finally stilling itself in his lungs.

"Beautiful," he murmurs an echo of his earlier statement and she squirms a bit, growing annoyed with his insistence. "I meant the sunset." He clarifies, teasing and she shakes her head. It was too early for that, he knows but it seems to soften the mood between them again.

"The sun won't set for at least another hour, Will." She chides.

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure it's supposed to set in five minute, but then," he smirks, "I always am horrible at keeping track of time when I'm kissing you."

"Who said anything about-" She starts, and then pauses lips held apart to let out a sigh as he rolls toward her, pressing enough of his upper body against hers to pull both of her wrists above her head and hold them in place.

Her eyes go wide as he brushes the first of many chaste kisses against her lips and then darken, smoldering when a shifting of her arms fails to release her arms.

"I did." He murmurs against her lips and she moans.

 

By the time they stumble back to their hotel, impatient and wanting, the sun is indeed setting a brilliant orange that neither of them notice. Helen fidgets impatiently, flip flop tapping on the carpeted floor as he fumbles with the room card.

"I want to." She says as soon as he's closed the door behind them and he feels the first bit of seriousness creep into his stomach. She wasn't asking for another oddly flavored ice cream cone or a deep fried oreo, this was a big deal.

"Helen." He says it gently, with more patience than he really posses but her face still falls a bit. He wants her to do this with a clear head, but she's nervous, a bit skittish, more inclined to push things when she's already aroused. "I'm not telling you no." He continues evenly, a hand pressed to her check to steady them both, "but I want to talk through it, first."

"I want you to-" She says again stubbornly, but she can't make herself finish the sentence.

"You want me to tie you to the bed." He supplies for her and she nods once.

"I like your hands," she smiles unapologetically at this and turns her face to press her lips into his palm. "I like your hands on me but I like what we were doing on the beach too."

"Why don't we try this first?" He tests the water, suppressing a satisfied smile when her breath hitches against his palm. "What if I told you, you weren't allowed to move your arms."

She looks uncertain, but no less interested. She's not looking for a challenge, not here, not now, he realizes as she watches him out of the corner of her eye. She doesn't want to fail him, not after she had proposed this and persuaded him she would be ok with it.

He tugs a sarong off a nearby chair, the fabric stiff with salt, and loops it around, knotting two ends of the triangle together. "I'll put this around your wrists so you'll know when you're moving too much."

She twists the string tied around her finger, thinking. It’s the same red as the plastic ring he had bought her from a gumball machine in Atlantic City. He’d mostly been joking- but a part of him had been testing the water- after their neighbors that morning had mistakenly congratulated them on their marriage. Helen had blushed a brilliant red and muttered her thanks before slipping away. Later, plastic ring in hand he had promised her they wouldn’t have any more overly enthusiastic sex within earshot of anyone else if she told him what it was about the night before that had drove her so insane.

“Ok,” she agrees, fingers grazing his wrist.

Slipping her shirt off she settles back on the bed, the frantic energy from before replaced by a quieter but no less potent anticipation. He slips the binding alongside her slender fingers and settles it low on her wrists before leaning in to brush a kiss against her forehead.

She whimpers, squirming at his refusal to move things along, but holds her arms steady. He’s painfully aware of how far away from her he is, how much he wants to press his skin against hers and make her gasp, but he’s taking it slow, coaxing her along. He wants her to enjoy this, all of it, even if they’re both finding increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Feather light kisses and his fingers in her hair. He trails a line of kisses down the hollow of her throat, stopping to smile against her collarbone when he feels her shoulders relax. The kisses continue, between her breasts, down her stomach, his hands on her hips, her legs splayed wide, the tension along her spine seeps out into the mattress.

When he hears her sigh, a half whimper, he leans up to kiss her properly, losing himself in the sensation until she whines again.

She’s not going to let him unbind her wrists, and despite the fact she seems to have forgotten about it almost entirely, he doesn’t want to tempt her.

“Don’t move.” He whispers, deftly doing away with the clasp on her shorts, the fabric pulled away as she cants her hips toward him, keening quietly. He moves away from her, sliding lower on the bed, and pauses to kiss the inside of her thigh, warm and wet, as she pleads with him unintelligibly.

He’s always careful, methodical, but tonight he’s even more so, pushing her higher then drawing her back until she squirms, whimpering. He smiles, warm laughter bubbling as he crooks two fingers within her. Normally she would have her fingers wrapped tight in his hair by now, demanding, hurrying him along.

He’s trying not to take advantage, but he loves the wild, untethered look in her eye, the pleas that have dropped off to nothing more than frantic gasps for air. He sucks at her clit and then stops, listens. She whimpers and then swallows, tries vainly to kick at him.

“Bloody hell.” A whine intended as something else he assumes and he laughs against the soft skin of her thigh.

“I’ll trade you for that sarong,” he murmurs wanting to be able to hold her when he slips inside her, hold her close when he pulls another smaller orgasm from her.

She nods and he crooks his fingers again, lips still pressed against her thigh as she gasps, hips jerking up and then falls still panting.

“Beautiful,” he grins and she chokes out a laugh when she can.

He cleans his fingers, methodically, relishing the blush that creeps over her face as she watches him through heavily lidded eyes. She’s still trembling, vibrating with need, but he’s taken the edge off. When she reaches down, tugging at him, pulling him close, it’s gentle, almost sleepy.

“Kiss me again, then tell me how long until the sun comes up again.”

“Never or maybe thirty seconds I can’t remember,” he teases pressing his lips to hers. “Maybe a minute.”


End file.
